


Insomnia

by jo2ukes



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, badass/sadass!reaper76, commander!reyes, definitely an au tho, frankenstein!au of sorts, lots of angsty dads, medic/scientist!jack
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-08-11 16:14:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7899460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jo2ukes/pseuds/jo2ukes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Theories and academia don’t matter when you have everything you want and you never have to question if you can bring it back, let alone whether or not you should.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Insomnia

“I ought to be thy Adam; but I am rather the fallen angel.” -- Frankenstein, Mary Shelley  


\--

Blood pools in his mouth. His head is spinning, his eyes fluttering— somehow the cool hard ground does little to combat the fact that he feels like he’s in four places at once. Heavy footsteps pound towards him, slowly, relishing in the time they possess that he does not.   
  
He’s made a mistake. A selfish mistake—one of many. Perhaps he should have realized that long ago. Perhaps he should have apologized. It was too late now.

There’s nothing easy about death. You can eat all of the lies they spoon feed you so that you can sleep easier at night. But he’s lived long enough to know they’re just that—lies. Death hurts—buries itself under your skin and pushes its way through. Its constantly on your mind, whether the pain boring its way through your skin is dull or sharp. Anyone who comes in contact with death contracts the same thoughts. Death is a disease. And only the ignorance of man has led to the belief that all diseases can be cured.

\--

_“Stay with me,” Jack’s voice is gruff as his hands work. Gabriel doesn’t have to open his eyes to know the damage is practically irreparable. One shot to through your side is a hell of a thing, somehow he’d managed four shots—there’s no way the bullets missed vital organs. Despite all the pain, he’s willing to hold out hope. Jack is nothing short of a miracle worker and Gabriel has always been a man of faith._

_“You sure you know what you’re doing?” he tenses as he feels the prick of Jack’s tools in his side, his eyes snapping open. A bullet clatters in the tray beside them._

_“No son of a bitch has died on my watch,” Jack grumbles, his brow furrowing in concentration. “Hold still. And don’t you dare close your eyes again—you’ve got to stay awake.”_

_“My mother was a saint,” Gabriel coughs out with a laugh._

_“Well she sure managed to raise one hell of an idiot. How did you manage to get shot four times in the same side?” His question is punctuated with the clatter of another bullet._

_“I’m deadlier up close.”_

_“Yeah, and so are they,” Jack snorts. Gabriel almost feels guilty—the worry lines on Jack’s face are more prominent as of late. He lifts a hand to Jack’s face, running his thumb down the absent smile lines. There was a time when Jack’s smile lines were more prominent, when his dimples were the crowning glory to his radiant smile. When they were younger, Jack had promised, rather foolishly—wherever you go, I go. As Gabriel’s career in the special military forces turned into promotion after promotion, Jack followed. He did what he could to keep Jack out of combat—the battlefield wasn’t a place for the likes of him. Or perhaps it could be, and the idea was what was most frightening._

_And yet, here he is. As much a saving grace as he was the day Gabriel first met him. The horrors he’s seen—they’ve both seen—haven’t changed them much. Except for the worry lines, which are only bound to get deeper after this._

_“You’re a commander.” Gabriel came to his senses, realizing Jack was still lecturing him. What’s going to happen when—” A pause, interrupted by more coughs from Gabriel. Jack’s skin underneath his fingers wasn’t keeping him warm any more._  
  
“When?” he encourages Jack to continue, lowering his hand.

_“—_ If _you die?”_

_“The world will keep spinning, corazón,” he smiles. It won’t be such a big loss. He’s done the jobs that no one wanted to do, was willing to get his hands dirty and take the blame. As the cliché goes—to the rest of the world, he doesn’t really exist in the first place. It sounded stupid, but when faced with the idea of death, the reality was a little harsh. Gabriel had seen men die under his command, knowing full well the poor bastards were already dead to their families at home. Buried years ago. Truthfully, they were all already dead._

_“Commander!” A voice interrupts the steady pace of Jack’s work. A younger soldier stands, saluting, in the doorway of the medical tent, a panicked expression on his face. “HQ has radioed in, they want a clean retreat, sir.”_

_“A retreat?” Gabriel sits up, ignoring Jack’s protests and the pain in his side. “What’s this about?”_

_“Intel picked up news of reinforcements, sir. We’re stretched too thin as it is. They should be arriving within the next five to ten minutes.”_

_“Five minutes isn’t enough time for a clean retreat,” Jack growled. “I’ve got wounded men to move and we haven’t the men to spare. I’m not leaving anyone behind,” his hand finds Gabriel’s and gives a squeeze, passing on the subliminal message. An affirmation of his promise—he never went anywhere without him. Gabriel smiles. Same old Jack. “Radio HQ and have them deploy reinforcements to us.”_

_“With all due respect—”_

_“—Radio HQ!”_

_“HQ can’t send reinforcements to our location in time,” Gabriel interjects. “At least give me some good news. How’s the recon team doing?”_

_“They’re on target but they need another few minutes. We’ve been ordered to retreat, but if we stay we can give them the time that they need, sir.”_

_“Then we stay,” Jack says, resolute._

_“Tell them we’re going to carry out the retreat,” Gabriel orders. The soldier nods, saluting again before turning to leave._

_“Reyes?” Jack says, his expression stern. “You can’t be serious._

_It’s no secret that he has a sense of pride. Pride in his work, his men, his strength—he was taught to never back down from a fight unless he had to. Old school rules, passed down to him by his father. If only the old man could see him now—an old dog giving his last few bites before time runs out. The path was clear to him; it was one of his strengths as a commander. He always knew how to make the tough calls. At least in this instance, no matter how bleak things looked, he could score a win on both counts—get his men out, get Recon the time they needed. If only things had always been this easy._

_“Move ‘em out, Morrison,” Gabriel said, steeling his expression and moving to put his combat gear back on. “Clean retreat.”_

_“You don’t get to be the hero this time,” Jack says, catching his arm tightly. “I’m coming with you.”_

_“That’s not your decision.” He wrenches his arm free of Jack’s grasp and gets dressed. He’s already dead. He’s already dead. The repeated lines in his head offer little comfort. He’s not afraid to die, never has been, wouldn’t have signed up for the job if that had ever been the case. It’s his damn pride that keeps him moving, keeps him resolute in his decision, but his mind keeps snagging on one thing._

_“So you’re going to leave me behind, huh? To make my way through your shadow? And then what? The world will keep on spinning?” Jack’s voice is soft. He always got soft when he was upset—when they fight, his voice is a dangerous quiet. When he holds back tears, he seems to figure the quieter he speaks the less noticeable it would be. It’s an oddly charming habit._

_“Corazón,” the word floats off his tongue, leaving a hint of melancholy in the air. He refused to let himself question why the word made him sad, refused to entertain questions of whether he would be able to say it again and watch Jack’s face light up._

_“I won’t allow it—”_

_“—Jack,” he turns on his heel, his voice caught somewhere between a growl and a sob. The name feels incredibly intimate. He closes the distance between himself and Jack, pressing their foreheads together and bringing his hand up to Jack’s face._

_“Wherever you go, I go. Remember?”_

_“Stop talking like I’m not coming back,” he laughs darkly, “I’m starting to think you have very little faith in me.” Jack sighs, his expression relaxing a little. He closes his eyes and, for a moment, he looks peaceful. For a moment, it feels like they’re the only two who exist in the world—nothing exists outside of the warmth of Morrison’s body, the earthy smell of his skin, the strength of his encircling arms. If ever he had a home, it was Jack Morrison._

_“You’ll be back before sunrise then,” Jack says, opening his eyes again, his anger subsided. “Promise me.”_

_“I promise,” Gabriel says, daring his voice to waver. He looks resolutely into bright blue eyes. Jack nods. Gabriel gives his arms a parting squeeze and smirks, “Be good, boy scout.”_

_And then, with the vain hope of doing something good with his few last breaths, he runs._

_\--_

“More overtime?”

                It’s late at the lab—Jack regularly takes the initiative to work late, has nothing outside of work despite others’ best efforts, which perhaps contributes to Angela’s joking tone. She means well, she always has. People like Angela are built to care about others. They’re made soft where others are hard, from their voices to their hands to their smiles. They enfold your pain in their gentleness until it is all but nonexistent. Jack was her opposite, rough where she was soft, stern where she was caring. His hands weren’t meant for healing, but for protecting, which entails different things. Protecting means sometimes your hand should be balled into a fist, your knuckles covered in blood. Protecting sometimes means your hands are shaking as you rush to wrap a bandage over a comrade’s wound, your lips spilling words of encouragement. Protecting sometimes means you put your hands up and close your eyes, preparing to take the blow for someone else. Protecting sometimes means you firmly grab a comrade’s hand and lead them out of danger—something he had failed at only once.

“Just personal research,” he replies, offering a short smile.

“Oh?” her eyes widen with interest—really the opposite effect from what he was hoping, though he should have known better. Angela Ziegler was nothing if not young and curious. The younger ones always are, the ones who haven’t seen the same shit he has. “What about?”

He pauses. His research isn’t exactly approved by the SMF, though he’s all but admitted it already. He’s served long enough that they don’t much care what he does with their resources—he justifies his frivolities in the hopes that his research will actually go on to benefit forces in the field. But it’s all theoretical.

“Cellular regeneration,” he says slowly. It’s only a half truth. They have cellular regeneration technology— glorified prototypes being used with some success on the field. This is… different.

“I wasn’t aware you had an interest in the subject,” she beams. Perfect Angela. She’s had no field experience as of yet—only ever worked in the SMF lab—so of course cellular regeneration is all exciting and theoretical. Not a second chance. Not a life saver. She understands the concepts but she doesn’t quite understand the implications of the concepts. He almost resents that fact.

“Well,” she says, offering a sigh, picking up on his disinterest in sharing with her—at least for now, “If you ever need assistance, call me.” She flashes a final smile and waves before she turns to leave, the lab filling with silence.

Jack heads toward the back of the lab to start his work. The hum of the machines is louder there, the white noise blocking out some of his thoughts and keeping memories at bay. He’s always considered asking Angela for help—she has the skills to encourage growth and life, bringing up hope in even the most barren human souls. He’s facing a task that feels practically impossible, though, theoretically it can be done. And it almost feels too intimate to share with anyone else.

His relationship with Reyes was never a secret, though they were careful with the information at first. Naturally, there were parts of themselves that they didn’t share with anyone else. Reyes has always been his weakness. The crack in his armor. Despite building walls and ensuring the impossibility of allowing anyone to slip through the cracks, he’s never been able to build back what he lost when Reyes died. He misses the warmth of his skin, the roughness of his beard against his chin when they kissed, the callouses on his hands, the deep yet gentle grumble of his voice…

Destroying those memories has consumed him. He can’t hold memories. He doesn’t want them. He wants Reyes, no matter the cost—one that has proven to be rather high. Many long nights have been spent pouring over academic texts, ones he never paid much attention to in his youth. Theories and academia had little weight when a soldier was bleeding out in front of you and it was all touch and go. Theories and academia don’t matter when you have everything you want and you never have to question if you can bring it back, let alone whether or not you _should_. It’s now been fifteen years since he started asking those questions. Sixteen since Gabe has been gone— the first year, he threw himself into combat, leaving his medic duties behind, praying that a stray bullet would help him fulfill his promise to Gabe: anywhere you go, I go. But he’s realized he’s sick of following. He wants Gabriel back. He should have healed by now, he knows that. He’s seen greater soldiers succeed. He’s stubborn. Part of it is that he doesn’t want to heal. Theory has opened a door for him that many others haven’t even considered. Now the key to his recovery means bringing Gabriel back to him—it’s possible, which means it’s the only way. He can do it.

His heart accelerates, picking up pace as the hum of the machines around him grows louder. The tedious small work is done and he can focus on the bigger picture: the body before him, withered and decorated in scars and stitches. The face before him so foreign, yet so familiar. He waits with baited breath, praying to any gods that might exist, that the induction will take.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees a finger flutter. It could be his imagination. He’s gotten his hopes up countless times before. A moved finger means nothing if the skin cells didn’t begin to regenerate and restore, if his heart wasn’t beating. Only time would tell.

Despite himself, he allows his mind to linger on the possibility that tonight could be the first night that he sees Gabriel anywhere outside of his dreams. Everything will be the same— or at least good and happy again, never mind the questions he’ll be asked. His research will happily be turned over to the SMF—perhaps they could use it to bring back other fallen soldiers. In the worst case, Gabriel’s second chance at life would cost Jack his career. A small price to pay. Perhaps it would be safer to bide his time… introduce his research before proving that it works—

His thoughts are interrupted by a blip on the EKG. At first he thinks he imagined it as only silence follows. But then he hears another followed by another—the spikes appearing on the screen appear in more rapid succession. He breathes in deeply. His hands are shaking. Slowly, the color seeps back into Gabriel’s skin—not perfect, there are patches that still look dead, some patches are colored by what appear to be bruises, but a rosiness returns to his overall complexion and a glow of life emanating from him. His breathing is slow and labored, but present.

Jack takes a small step closer, hovering over Gabriel’s head. Waiting. A quiet growl comes from Gabriel’s throat and his eyelids flutter.

“Gabriel?” Jack’s voice sounds quiet and entirely too loud all at the same time. He reaches out a shaky hand and places it on the man’s shoulder, the warmth he feels under his fingers flowing up his arm and straight to his chest. It worked. “Can you hear me, Gabriel?”

Slowly, as though aching all over, Gabriel sits up, his eyes still closed. He moves his fingers and cracks his neck. Finally his eyes open, and he surveys his surroundings, an unreadable expression on his face.

“Oh, my god,” Jack breathes, restraining himself from lunging at the man. He takes another timid step closer.

“Where am I?” The voice that spills out of Gabriel’s throat has Jack freeze in his tracks. It’s not the same— its scratchy, deep, dry sounding. All of the gentility is gone. No matter—he hasn’t spoken in sixteen years. Surely with time, it will come back. Even if it doesn’t, it shouldn’t matter. He’s still Gabriel Reyes, he’s still back, his voice is a small matter.

“You’re… in an SMF lab,” Jack speaks slowly, “My lab. We’re safe. No one is here.”

“Not on the field?” Gabriel asks, tilting his head

“Not on the field,” he confirms. “You’re safe, Gabriel. You’re back.” Gabriel’s expression shifts to one of slight confusion—perhaps it never occurred to him that he’d ever been gone. “You were… gone. It’s been sixteen years, I’ve been transferred from active duty and I’ve dedicated my research to bringing you back,” words spill from his lips, information that he’d hoped to save and deal out in appropriate doses at appropriate times. “I’ve kept it a secret of course, so you’ll have to lay low. I didn’t prepare for success as well as I should have… I didn’t even know if it was possible, but I had hoped—” Jack’s words seem to fall on deaf ears—Gabriel’s eyes wander from his face down his body, observing the years he’s missed. Jack’s face has changed, only slightly—his youthful appearance has faded, new scars spider across his face, white hairs have replaced his gold ones, but surely he’s still a face Gabriel will recognize. He has to be.

“It’s me,” he says, panicking. “Jack.”

“Jack,” Gabriel repeats the name, faltering over the sounds as though it was a word he’d never heard in his life. Jack’s heart flies up to his throat.

“Jack Morrison.” Still nothing. He takes another step forward, grabbing Gabriel’s hand and interlocking their fingers. “Remember? Wherever you go, I go?”

A flash of recognition seems to appear across Gabriel’s face and he squeezes Jack’s hand. He opens his mouth as though to reply, his eyes unreadable again.

In an instant, Gabriel’s form turns to smoke. The warmth and firmness of his skin disappears—Jack is desperately gripping at black smoke that pours out from between his fingers and settles on the floor. His heart plummets to his feet—induced cellular regeneration is unstable, he’s known this. He’s done his best to account for this. He worries for a moment that he’s gone wrong—a formula was incorrect somewhere along the line, a missed hour of sleep caused him to be forgetful and destroy his only chance at saving himself and curing the impossible. The smoke isn’t dissipating entirely—Jack watches it as it skirts along the floor, moving as though it has a mind of its own, lingering by his side for a moment as though unsure of what to do, before slowly drifting out of the room. He chases after it, but quickly loses track of it—collapsing to his knees after searching every room of the lab and finding no traces of smoke.

Gabriel is gone. Again.

**Author's Note:**

> this is like obvs a rly loose au that still kinda borrows elements from the original ow story i guess??? n also there will be more i just don't have a set update sched since uni is hell!!!!
> 
> idk i'm just crying n i wanna write my sad angsty dads in peace ;-; 
> 
> (hmu on tumblr [jo2ukes] if u wanna talk more sad dads or abt how gabriel reyes deserves the world)


End file.
